


Starspangled Brushwork

by bitsandbobsandstuff



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Sassy Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsandbobsandstuff/pseuds/bitsandbobsandstuff
Summary: You need help painting your apartment, and the weather and Bucky Barnes are both hot. Sniping and sexy times ensue.





	Starspangled Brushwork

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first piece of smut I ever wrote and I remember blushing as I wrote. My, how far we've come...

After years of saving pennies, working multiple jobs, and one too many nights of boxed wine and Ramen noodles, you had  _finally_ , saved enough money for a down payment to buy your own apartment. Sure it was small and on the top floor of an elevator-less building, but it was yours, and that’s what mattered.

In a bid to save money like a responsible homeowner, you also decided to paint the place yourself, and with a little cajoling and a little blackmail concerning that time you filmed him singing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ while he made a PB&J, Bucky grudgingly agreed to help as well.

The building was old, early 1900s, and lacked central air, so here you were on what had to be the hottest day of the summer, eyes closed, laying directly in front of a floor fan after opening every window and praying fervently a breeze would find its way in before you decided to climb in the fridge. You wore an old pair of running shorts and a t-shirt, and even in minimal clothing you were miserably hot, which made you question whether tackling this project today was smart. Regardless, you had already thrown a canvas drop cloth across the wood floors and covered all the edges with painter’s tape, so this mini-timeout in front of the fan was a good reward.

As you started to doze, the sound of heavy footsteps roused you, shuffling outside the door, and after a brief pause you heard what sounded like an elbow trying to knock. “Come in!” you called, still spreadeagled in front of the fan and unwilling to move. You heard a heavy sigh, and then what sounded like a couple kicks, this time with a foot. “I said, come in!” you shouted louder.

There was a fair amount of under the breath cursing, which you couldn’t make out exactly, but you got the gist of, and the door banged open. Bucky walked in, carrying three cans of paint, a bag of brushes, and a six-pack of beer. He was dressed to work, in a ratty old white t-shirt and black gym shorts.

“Did it not occur to you to buy an apartment on the first floor of a building, or maybe somewhere with an elevator?” he huffed, dropping everything except the beer in a pile at the door. “Also, why the hell is it a thousand degrees in here?”

“The last time I had neighbours above me, it sounded like elephants having sex at all hours of the day, so I did not entertain that option. Besides, my view is awesome.” You crooked an arm over your head, pointing awkwardly behind you at the bay windows, from where you could see part of the Brooklyn Bridge, and sighed contentedly. “Totally worth the five painful flights of stairs. Also I can’t afford air conditioning yet, so suck it up.”

Bucky headed into the kitchen, kicking off his sneakers as he walked, and grabbing a beer from the case before setting the rest in the fridge. He snapped the lid off and took a long drink from the bottle, looking pointedly at you over the rim. “By the way, these are all mine, don’t touch them.”

Part of you wants to smack him, but the larger part is far too comfortable in the cool breeze, so you let it go. Bucky walks toward you before collapsing with a groan on the floor, and taking another long pull from the bottle. “So how does this work? I’ve never held a paintbrush in my life, so there’s a chance this blackmail shit will backfire spectacularly on you.” 

“Hand me a can of paint, and learn from the master.” With a sigh and roll of his eyes, Bucky reached behind him snagging the plastic handle, swinging the can over his shoulder and dropping it with a bang in front of you.

“Also, what the fuck is with the name of this paint colour? ‘Star Spangled Glory’? It sounds like someone poured Steve Rogers into a paint can.”

“Close actually, it’s a lovely colour that happens to match Steve’s eyes,” you comment thoughtfully, jamming a screwdriver under the lip of the lid, and cracking open the can to reveal a pale blue. After a brief explanation of what you need, you dump a splash of paint into a cup, hand him a paintbrush, and direct him to start edging the opposite wall.

Settling down, you watch as Bucky dips the brush in the tiniest bit of paint possible, barely coating the bristles, and has a go. Half a brushstroke later, he’s out of paint. You can hear him mumbling under his breath, his colourful vocabulary on full display, as he dunks the brush over and over, slowly figuring out how much paint he can use before he makes a mess. You crank up music on your phone, dip your roller in the paint tray, and climb onto a stepladder to start on the other wall, working together in companionable silence.

The silence doesn’t last long. “What exactly is this music supposed to be?” Bucky leaned back on his heels, lifting up the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, accidentally smearing a strip of paint down his forearm in the process.

You keep working, rolling giant ‘Ws’ on the wall, and feeling little splatters of paint flicking off the roller into your hair. “Um, these are my jams. If you’re going to mock me, you can shut your face.”

“Hate to break it to you, but your jams suck.”

“You suck.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky agreed, his nose nearly touching the wall as he leaned in to drag the brush along, trying to get as close to the blue tape as possible. “God dammit,” he sighed, when several drops of sweat rolled into his eye. He shook his arms, moving his shoulders and trying to get his shirt unstuck from his back, where the sweat had soaked through making the fabric stick to his skin. “Nope, fuck this I can’t, it’s too damn hot,” he declared, dropping the brush into the cup with a clatter, and sitting up on his knees. Peeling off his shirt, he used it to wipe his face and rubbed it through his hair like a towel, before balling it up and tossing into the corner. He sat back on his heels, wearing just those god forsaken black gym shorts, which hung far too low for your sanity. You stared, annoyed as hell, at a rivulet of sweat making its way down his back, lower and lower, disappearing in the waist of the shorts like a god damn diet Coke commercial.

Clearing your throat a couple times, you tried not to stare directly at him, because it really wouldn’t do to alert him to your lewd thoughts, so you turned back to face the wall in front of you. “Ah, you…um, it’s…you know.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder at you, a small smile on his lips. “No, I don’t know. It’s what exactly?”

You sighed loudly. What an asshole. “I’m not – I’m just – I’m simply saying it’s annoying that women can’t just take off their clothes when life gets too hot,” you complained.

Bucky barked out a laugh and stretched his arms above his head, sighing appreciatively as he relished the lack of sweaty clothing. He sat back on his butt and spun to face you, spreading his legs wide, propping them up and resting his elbows on his knees. Glancing behind you, you could see the sweat trickling down his chest, which was not helpful. “A delightful benefit of being a man. However, I can say with absolute certainty, no one here will be disappointed if you’d like to take off your shirt,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his eyes flickering down to your ass.

You debated. If it was just a bra under your t-shirt, you wouldn’t think twice, but it was slightly more complicated. The top under your t-shirt was more than a little transparent and had an interesting…let’s say _image_ …on the front, one that would either light the fire under this ‘will they or won’t they’ dance you had with Bucky Barnes, or end up causing you an extreme amount of embarrassment.

He could see the hesitation on your face as you looked at him. “Come on, don’t be a prude.” Bucky goaded, leaning forward and brushing at the drips of paint that had splattered on his leg.

Weighing the options a moment longer, you finally shrugged. Let the dice fall where they may. Turning around on the stepladder, you dropped the paint roller and grabbed the shirt hem, tugging it over your head. Mirroring Bucky’s move, you wiped your face with it, before chucking the shirt to the side. Resting a hand on your hip, you smiled sweetly.

Was it worth it? Sure as hell was. His expression was priceless, eyes going wide, jaw dropping comically as he stared at you. The white undershirt clung to your skin, ridiculously low cut and completely see-through – he could clearly see your breasts under the thin fabric. In block letters across the chest were the words ‘Property of’, and underneath those letters, a deep red star – that just so happened to match the one on Bucky’s arm.

He was silent for a full minute, seeming to take it in, eyes glued to your chest. You could practically see his brain spinning, debating his next move.

You held your breath, wondering if this gamble would pay off. You knew the moment it worked, when his lips curled into that smug smile, the fire in his eyes lighting up his entire face. Licking his lips, his eyes locked on yours, he dropped to his hands and knees, and slowly crawled toward you. He reached the stepladder where you were perched, wrapped his fingers around the legs of the stool, and pulled himself to his knees, looking up at you through narrowed eyes.

He seemed to choose his response carefully, and his voice was rough when he spoke, teeth clenched as he ground out the words. “I think…I should take a much closer, more _intimate_ , look at my property.”

You crouched down from your slight elevation on the stepladder, bringing your face in line with his. “You can try,” you whispered, reaching down to the tray beside you, picking up a small brush and wiping a bit of paint on his cheek. The sound that rumbled through his chest was unlike anything you had heard from him before, and you could hear the cheap aluminium stool protest as his metal hand flexed, squeezing enough to bend the leg.

Those metal fingers followed as you rose back to your feet, keeping a light grip on the top of your shorts, hooking his fingers in the waistband. He stared hard at you, and you could hear a quiet whirring sound emanating from his arm, as it stayed still, tense and waiting for your permission. Sweat rolled down your temples, and you panted quietly staring back at him, before giving several vigorous nods. Bucky’s grip only tightened further. “No – I need to hear you say it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding, simultaneously aroused and fucking annoyed. “Seriously? Do I need to spell it out for you? If you don’t pull down my shorts immediately and put your mouth on me Bucky, I swear to god – ”

Apparently that was enough. In one swift motion, Bucky had yanked the shorts to your ankles, pushed your feet to the opposite sides of the step, and ran his hands up the back of your thighs, landing with a harsh grip on your ass. Keeping his eyes locked on yours, he buried his face in your pussy.

You let out a low moan of approval. Bucky Barnes’ face between your thighs was legitimately the most aggressively arousing thing you had ever seen. Twining one hand in his hair, you held his head close, and the damp blue paint on your fingertips bled into the dark, sweaty strands. His tongue pressed against you firmly, dancing across your clit, his fingers digging into your skin and kneading your ass as they followed the same rhythm as his mouth.

Feeling restricted, your other fingers reached up to pull at the tank top, trying to tug it off with one arm. The moment he saw your intent, Bucky’s hand shot up, stopping your movements. Eyes drifting back to your chest, you could feel the vibration from his throat as he spoke, his lips barely leaving your core. “Stop. Leave it on. I want to see your tits bouncing against that star when I fuck you.”

 _Christ._ “Then you better get to it,” you breathed, while he hummed in agreement, sucking your clit hard between his teeth. The feeling was electric, and the sharp jolt caused your knees to buckle, pitching you forward and falling into him. Bucky scrambled to stay upright, trying to backpedal on his knees and catch you, unwillingly removing his mouth from you. He managed to keep his balance, moving one hand to your waist, the other below your cheeks, turning his body so you fell on top of him. As you went down, you felt your heel connect with the paint roller, and saw the tray full of paint tip precariously, before thankfully righting itself. Glancing behind you, the bottom of your right foot was completely coated, and you could feel blobs of paint between your toes. There was a low rumble of laughter, the skin beneath your hands shaking, and you looked down to find yourself straddling Bucky, palms slick on his sweaty chest. He looked up at you with that cocky grin, his hands still on your ass.

“That was graceful.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not a problem.”

In a fluid movement, Bucky rolled over, sliding you beneath him. Leaning back, he pushed himself to his feet, towering above you as he looked down. The vision was nothing short of incredible. Bucky Barnes, muscles slick with sweat, eyes nearly black with lust, pushing down his shorts to reveal an intensely thick cock. He was literally a hot, messy, dream come true. He stepped out of the shorts and kicked them aside, before dropping down in front of you. Gripping your legs tightly, he spread them roughly apart, while his eyes travelled down from your nipples, lingering again on that red star, and falling to the dripping view in front of him. With an appreciative groan, hands still on your knees, he jerked your body closer and with no pause, thrust his hips forward, driving into you.

“Ah, fuck!” you cried out, reaching up to grab his wrists. He stilled, panting slightly. “Okay?” he asked, voice laced with concern that he started too rough.

“Yes, yes, so okay, fuck I’m so god damn okay!” you nearly shouted, slapping his wrists, trying to convince him to keep moving. Bucky chuckled, easing up as he thrust slowly into you, trying not to push too fast. “No, it’s too fucking hot to go slow,” you hissed, nails digging into his forearms, as you arched up. “Fuck me Bucky, fuck me hard, make me feel it.”

With a strangled groan, he let go of your legs, reaching forward to steady himself so he could move faster, slamming his hand down on the floor above your shoulder, and landing directly on the still wet paint can lid. “God dammit,” he swore, pulling back his hand and shaking it slightly, as it dripped paint on your chest. You burst out laughing at the look on his face, a blend of desire and frustration, as he tried to keep moving his hips while figuring out where to put his hand.

“Funny, huh?” he grunted, slapping the wet hand on your thigh and pulling it up around his waist, leaving a large blue handprint smeared across your leg.

“Hilarious!” you gasped, the laughter dying in your throat, when he tilted your hips up and pushed himself down, grinding into you. The canvas sheet below you moved back and forth as Bucky’s knees struggled for traction on the rough fabric. Searching for an easier position, he shifted both of your legs into the air, resting your ankles against his shoulders and wrapping his arms around your thighs, immediately managing a faster pace.

Bucky’s eyes were everywhere, watching your tongue bite your lips, watching the way his cock slid into you, watching your hands under your shirt as they pulled and pinched your nipples. “God dammit, fuck, _fuck,_ you’re so god damn sexy,” his voice came out hoarsely. With another snap of his hips, he rapped out directions to you. “Put your hands above your head. Now. Leave them there. I need to see your tits.” Whining quietly at the loss of contact, you let go of your nipples and stretched your arms above your head, linking your fingers together. Bucky wasted no time, shiny metal reaching under that red star, replacing your fingers and twisting your nipple harshly. You felt the spark radiate through your body, and his hand continued upward, before he pushed two fingers into your mouth, shuddering when you wrapped your tongue around them, sucking hard. A string of curses fell from his lips, as he pulled his fingers out and returned them to your clit, rubbing the little nub faster. You could feel his body tensing up, knew he was getting close, and by god, you meant to beat him to the finish line.

“Come on baby, don’t stay behind.” His voice cracked as he struggled to hold himself back, momentum stuttering slightly as he tried to maintain the rhythm for you. “Come for me, come on. Come now.” With his hand moving between your legs, hips slamming into you at just the right angle, you felt the tightness in your belly reach its peak, and with a choked scream, you lost it, body arching up as your fingers scrabbled to hold tight to the canvas sheet. You could hear Bucky’s breath coming in harsh pants, shorter and faster above you, until he shouted out “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” his fingers latching tightly to your legs, holding them in place as he came.

He continued to push into you, gradually slowing to a lazy tempo, while he climbed down from his finish. Still breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against your ankles for a moment while he caught his breath, before gently releasing both from his shoulders, opening your legs as he leaned forward and collapsed on top of you. Gulping for air, still trying to slow your heartbeat, neither of you were able to form a coherent sentence for several minutes.

There was a sound of quiet laughter, as he pulled out slowly, sliding himself further down your body. Face smeared with paint, blue highlights running through his dark hair, Bucky propped up his metal arm over the star on your stomach, the cool temperature perfect against your overheated skin. He rested his chin on his fist, grinning at you. “Think I’m going to buy you some underwear to match that shirt.”


End file.
